The Worst Bigfoot Encounter

is that the big Cave System. I don't know what I'm talking about. I've been to all these places. I fished Cave Run. I just can't remember where it is. I fished a bunch of lakes in that state. It's a different kind of fishing than I was raised on, but I enjoyed it. It was fun. Went muskie fishing one time. I think it was at Caveron Lake and the guy was with caught a musky. He said, he said, that's a fish of a thousand casts. I thought, dude, that's pretty cool. It wasn't a huge fish, but anyway,

there must be kind of sparse. I don't know anyway back to the story. This is an exciting story, so hold on to the old weaves. Here we go. After forty five years of hunting and being in the woods and being successful and harvesting everything from coyotes, deer, turkey, bear, and other types of small game, I will be selling my guns, equipment and donating all my camo. I think I need some sort of therapy or medication to deal

with what happened to me this past turkey season. I'm afraid to tell anyone, including my family and even my hunting buddies. I can't go to a shrink or tell my doctor because I'm afraid I'll be sent to the hospital for observation. I don't know for sure, but that might be a good thing to allow me time to sort this out in my head. I have opted to reach out to you and tell you my story and recount what happened to me the last weekend of April in the Cave Run Lake region of Kentucky, while hunting

turkey by myself. I had already harvested one bird with a bow and called in several gobblers for my friends. So this was going to be my own time with mother nature and me having a battle of wits with an educated thunder chicken. It started like every other spring turkey hunt I have ever been on, in which I was up at four am, in the woods at five point thirty and at the top of a ridge. By six am, the birds, which had been quiet this year, roared to the rising sun, and I had my choice

of five different directions to follow the gobbling. I knew my way around the area like I knew my own home, having hunted that region since I was thirteen, so I decided to take the ridge to a point that opened into a small clearing that dropped off on both sides and had a sawbriar thicket that ran adjacent to the backside.

The bird was still in the tree when I set up one hundred and fifty yards away from it, and I increased the frequency of my calls, mixing in clucks and yelps and some very sexy cuts and cackles, and I had this bird fired up. I was cutting him off, and he was cutting me off with double and triple gobbles. So I knew I was going home early that day. As on many occasions, this bird wanted to stay on the roost until he got a visual confirmation that he

was not being catfished by an ugly hen. I played the long distance love song for twenty minutes, and then he went silent. I realized the entire forest was still, but I knew this bird was coming. Sometimes birds in this area will do that. They'll stop gobbling and approach in silence. I had my shotgun on my knee and my call was in my mouth, and I was completely undetectable with my back against a large black oak that

was almost as white as my shoulders. I tucked in the tree fifteen feet from the clearing, and my eyes looked for movement from this bird. I had been sitting there motionless for fifteen minutes when something reached around the tree from both directions, and with the top hand it grabbed my mouth and neck, pulling it back against the tree, and the other hand was around my waist, which also

pulled my gun into my gut. I was unable to move anything other than my feet, and the more I kicked, the tighter its grip was on my waist until I stopped kicking. At that point, it relaxed its grip just a little. My eyes rolled wide, searching to see what had me in its grip. It was blurry, but I could see its hands and its arm as it held my face. It was a dark brown hair covered arm in areas where there was no hair, it was callous,

dark gray skin, and thick fingers like a gorilla. I could not move my head, and I struggled to get air in the gaps between its fingers. If I kicked, the grip tightened, so I did my best to relax so that I could breathe. I focused on the sunlit fiel just outside the trees in front of me, and I tried to take in a measured breath. My heart rate began to drop just a little, and I relaxed

just enough to think. When a doe walked out into the grass, I noticed her colors right away, that light brown tone that blazed in the sun against the new spring grass. I focused on her and I almost fell into a trance. She was panting and blowing after a minute, and then began to stomp, obviously trying to get us to move. They know when something is not right in the woods. A black streak shot across her and she went down. It was so fast that I almost missed it,

and I couldn't believe what I was seeing. The creature that had me tightened its grips lightly and took my mind away from the show in front of us. Another creature came into view and hovered over the deer, which was only quivering now in its death rattle. It raised its head. It was a dog like head with ears erect, and it scanned the area, made a clicking sound that I had never heard, and it raised its muzzle into the air and lifted its front jaws and white things

shone in the sun. They had to be three inches long. It howled, and it was answered immediately by another howl not too far away. Less than a minute later, there were two of these werewolves standing in the clearing, devouring the dough. I will never experience fear like that again, I'm sure of that. My thoughts went back to whatever had me pinned against the tree, and I knew I was next on the menu. In a matter of just a few minutes, the deer carcass was gone, with only

a large bloody patch on the ground. As they bit through the meat and the bones, swallowing mouthfuls as if it were a race to see which beasts could consume the most meat, and as fast as it began, it was over, and both creatures turned toward the backside of the clearing and began to sniff the air, at which time my heart sank into my stomach and my fight or flight instincts were in overload. Had I not been captive, I would have been running at that point, which would

have been the worst mistake I could make. The creature started to look in my direction, and I could tell that they knew something was out of place. The head of the monster that held me against the tree came briefly into my peripheral view, and it let out a tremendous roar, so loud that I lost my hearing in my right ear for the rest of that day. The pair of beasts in the field took one step toward my location. They had not moved afoot when several roars

lit up the area. I don't know how many there were, but a few, maybe four or five, and they all roared at one time, and just like that, the two dog creatures turned and bolted out of view, followed by a massive explosion of movement around me as the second group burst into pursuit of the dog creatures, leaving me held against the tree by my captor. The hand that held my waist grabbed my gun and snatched it out of my hands and threw it into the trees, and

then it released my mouth. It took me a minute to gather my senses, but I got to my feet and I started to run to my shotgun. I didn't see my captor anywhere. As I took the first few steps, I couldn't see the gun, but I knew which way he had thrown it. Like a flash, it was in front of me, blocking my way. One more step and I would have bounced off the mast of beast. It groaned and it pushed me back onto the ground. Until that moment, I assumed these things all looked the same,

like dogs. But what stood before me was different. It was bigger, and it was thicker. It was more heavy set. The color was not black, maybe it was dark brown. It towered over, and it's deep inhales and exhales intimidated me to no end. I locked onto its face, and I could see emotion and thought in those large dark eyes. Its nose was almost flat against its face, and its mouth could have held an NFL football. I got up and I ran. I ran down that trail that I

came in on. But what had taken me over forty five minutes to travel before only took me maybe ten minutes to get back to my truck. And when I got in the truck, I kept the fast pace going and I flew down that gravel road, pushing the limit on how hard I could drive without putting it up a tree or over a cliff. A week later, my gun is still on that ridge near Cave Run Lake, and I'm not going in there to get it. I cannot sleep. I have called off work three days and

I was sent home another. Some got as I work with walked in the bathroom and while I was in the middle of a crying episode. It was one of many I've had since this happened to me. I don't know what it is. I'm not a crier, but when the memories fled back in detail, I burst into a crying fit. I can't control it. I don't think the bigfoot type creatures meant me any harm, but I do believe I would have been consumed by those dogs slash wolf creatures if the Bigfoot had not wrapped me up.

This is not a death I would want to experience. Right now, I'm so afraid of the woods. And now I drive an additional twenty minutes each day to drive to work on busy highways instead of county rows. I refused to sit on the porch anymore, which is something that I had cherished, spending time with my wife on the port, swinging and sipping sweet tea and listening to birds sing. I've even hired the kid down the street to cut my grass. I won't even get that close

to the woods. My questions are, what should I do? Is there help for people who have had these experiences? Well, I'll be able to get past this and enjoy all those things I dearly loved in my past life. And that's the end of a story. That's Kentucky. That's not too far from me. I don't okay, run If I could remember where it is, I want to say it's on the east side of Lexington. That's some hilly country and there's some thick woods in there, and I'm sure

there are other encounters in that area. But to this man's question, I mean, who do you talk to if you're in a war? And you come back with some terrible images in your head or memories of things that you've done. You can you know, psychiatrists know how to deal with that. In the military and even in civilian life, people equiped to deal to help you deal with those things. But I don't know where you go. And people have

sent me first. I've been accused of not caring about people who've had these experiences, but it's kind of like this. I've never had that kind of experience, so I don't know what they're going through. I mean, there's a lot of things that people go through that I have sympathy for that may not look like I have sympathy for it because I've just never been through anything like that.

I mean, you can just pick anything, you know. And I may have said this before, but the first thing we all think is, man, I'm glad that didn't happen to me. You don't say it. You don't say it, but you're thinking it. That's kind of what I was thinking when I was reading this man. This guy he needs to talk to somebody, But who does he talk to without being committed to the mental or mental floor of the hospital. I don't know. I wish I knew

what to tell him. Maybe you guys, maybe there's a Bigfoot support group, you know, like a like a AA for Bigfoot encounter somewhere. If there isn't, there probably ought to be, because these people claim to have serious memories of this stuff. And I can sympathize with that, but I can't. I can't identify with it because I've never been through anything like that. But if I ever do go through something like that, I'm gonna tell you all about it. But I don't think Bigfoot even is interested

in me. People see Bigfoot everywhere, and they see bigfoot sign everywhere. I never see anything, nothing, nothing, no signs, no nothing. But I don't know. I feel like I'm talking kind of slow. Am I talking too slow? I'm not sure. Sounds like I'm talking slow anyway. I had a few minutes this afternoon I've been writing Steve Lilly. I needed to take a break. I had to do a little editing on this, so that was I don't really like to do that, but sometimes I'll jump into it,

and uh, it's kind of cathartic. Is that a word? Cathartic therapeutic? I don't know. I'm not very smart I don't. I don't have a big vocabulary. Cathartic sounds right, but it was kind of that way to edit this and uh, you know, get the get everything presentable to read. But I enjoyed reading it. I feel for this guy. If you guys have any advice for him, give him a comment. Let him know I didn't get this too long ago, so he's probably still listening. All right, man, thanks for

the story. I'm sorry you're dealing with all that, but we will see you guys on the next podcast. Thanks for joining me.